


xxiv. home For Christmas

by Lotusd



Series: SPN Advent Calendar 2020 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x20 does not exist, Christmas Eve, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, bend-me-shape-me's SPN Advent Calendar 2020, deancas centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28305828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotusd/pseuds/Lotusd
Summary: Day 24 of the SPN Advent CalendarThe first Christmas Eve after the Winchesters save the world for the last time.A sickly sweet dose of festive fluff because we (and the characters) deserve that and so much more. Post-canon. Basically a 15x20 fix it: Saileen and Destiel endgame. Being happy while alive. Jack's God, but he's still Jack.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: SPN Advent Calendar 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076003
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	xxiv. home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first thing I've posted on AO3 in years, so rather excited. I used the [SPN Advent Calendar Prompts](https://bend-me-shape-me.tumblr.com/post/635594995196461056/hello-everyone-a-couple-weeks-ago-i-had-the) and may or may not end up doing the rest of them, but I'll update accordingly. Hopefully this satisfies some festive fluff and makes you all feel a bit better about the ending.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://bidean-byedean.tumbrl.com)

It’s silent in the Bunker. Empty. No one around for miles that even knows of its existence. Patiently it waits. It knows that eventually, someone will hear its calls and find their way. Those who are meant to always do.

Sam Winchester is the first one home. Technically now, Sam Leahy. He pulls up in the sensible car he managed to snag from a grateful dealership owner who had a problem with a cursed family heirloom, and no matter how much Dean teases him, Sam appreciates the normality of it. Especially now.

Coming around to the passenger side, he opens the door and holds out his hands for Eileen to grab, her centre of gravity no longer where it should be. She pretends to huff, but softens immediately as he pulls her to her feet, her enormous belly pushing them back apart. It’s easy to forget how lucky they are, with all that happened in the last year, and then he sees Eileen, sees her growing with _his baby_ , and it hits him all over again. For all the bad they went through, where they’ve ended up is pretty incredible.

Eileen tip-toes up to kiss him, their lips already cold despite only being out of the car for thirty seconds. Something wet lands on her face and they both look up to see the first flakes starting to fall. She smiles brightly.

 _“I love snow,”_ she signs.

_“I know, but we shouldgo in before-“_

_“Wait, just one minute. Please.”_

She breathes in deeply, letting the cold air fill her lungs and tingle all the way down into her fingers. Where she grew up, there wasn’t snow on Christmas, always the possibility, but it usually amounted to cold rain and miserable clouds. _Here,_ there’s proper good snow, the kind that falls in fat, fluffy chunks from the sky and settles quickly, building up to a thick blanket in the time it takes you to find your coat and hat and gloves and scarf.

Letting her face fall back, the flakes tickle her skin, landing on her eyes and mouth, melting almost instantly into tiny cold droplets that run into her hair and down her neck. Sam watches her entranced. He’s never thought much of snow before, not more than it being a type of weather that usually denotes Christmas time and them getting stuck somewhere because the Impala is _not_ an all weather vehicle. But Eileen, she makes it magical. The way it makes her smile, how she breathes it in like it’s her first breath of fresh air in years, and not to mention, she looks even cuter than usual with her cheeks and nose all pink from the cold, her eyes shining brightly in the darkness.

“ _Why are you staring at me?”_

_“Cause you’re beautiful.”_

_“You say that to all the girls.”_

He pulls her into another kiss, deeper than the first, trying to tell her that he and Dean may have saved the world but it’s _her_ that made it worth saving in the first place, it’s _her_ that makes it beautiful,.

Inside the Bunker, it’s perfectly toasty, the rush of warm air that escapes when they unlock the door is like a hug, as if the Bunker itself has come to greet them. The place looks like Santa’s grotto on steroids. Their Mrs. Butters interlude may have ended tragically, however she did remind them that they shouldn’t be embarrassed about embracing the holidays - you never know when will be your last chance to celebrate with your loved ones. No one was meant to have another Christmas, and definitely not the Winchesters, so going all out was a unanimous decision.

The banisters are laced with tinsel and the insanely long strings of lights that the boys found tucked in the back of one of the storage rooms. It took hours to get them just so, but the effect is breathtaking. Sam flips off the main lights and lets the place be bathed in coloured lights: reds and blues and greens and golds and whites. Some of them blink in and out slowly, some change colour, the motion giving it all a dream-like quality. Although they finished putting everything up in the first week of December, Eileen still hasn’t gotten used it to. It’s just so _much_ and she _loves_ it.

They unpack the last minute groceries and put the oven on for tonight’s dinner: party food. If it comes frozen and in miniature, they were eating it. Sam couldn’t wait to see Jack’s face when he saw tonight’s offering, which reminded him- when would Jack get here? He didn’t exactly have a cell that they could call, but he usually gave them the heads up before he was popping in. He kind of expected him to be here already, it was Christmas Eve and Jack had seemed so excited about the holidays…

The lights click off briefly, so briefly that Sam thinks he might’ve just blinked but when he looks up he sees Eileen by the light switch, an urgent look on her face.

“ _Come, come_ , _and shhh,_ ” she signs before disappearing without waiting to check Sam follows. He always follows.

She makes her way through the Bunker into the library, slowing down to sneak into the room like she was trying not to disturb someone, but as far as Sam knew, they were the only people in the Bunker.

“ _What?”_ He signs frowning, but then he sees:

In the library is the tree; the biggest, most obnoxious tree that they could fit through the front door. Thankfully, they found a ladder so they could actually put the lights and tinsel on the monstrous thing, but apart from that the green bows are bare. It’s not the tree that the pair are concerned with though, it’s who is standing, staring up at it.

Jack’s had Christmases before. The one with Mrs. Butters was his favourite, but not a perfect one because Castiel wasn’t there, and if Castiel wasn’t there then it couldn’t be perfect. This year would be perfect _and_ his favourite because they would all be there. Him, and Castiel, and Sam, and Dean, and Eileen, and the baby.

He likes the Christmas tree. He feels its life energy coursing through the evergreen leaves; thankful that Sam listened to him about making sure to cut it so that it could be sustained and replanted. It looks beautiful. He likes the lights, the way they blink slowly, changing colour as if they think you might not notice, bleeding from one hue to another almost perfectly. Jack likes perfect things. Which is good because he thinks everything is perfect.

“Hey Jack,” Sam calls out.

They think he didn’t know they’re there, and he let them. It’s nice. “Hello.”

“Do you like it?” He signs while he speaks. He’s getting much better at that, Jack smiles. “Biggest one we could get.”

He nods up Sam. “Very much.”

“We, uh,” he taps a box on the floor with his foot. “Left the decorations for you. Thought you might wanna put them up. There’s an angel for the top.”

“Can I wait for Castiel and Dean to get home?”

“Of course.”

“ _Want a hot chocolate, Jack?_ ” Eileen asks. “ _I think baby does._ ”

His eyes drop to her belly. It’s much bigger than the last time he saw her, the baby is almost ready. His sibling, that’s what Sam and Eileen said. He would be big brother. “ _Can I have marshmallows?”_

_“Duh! And whipped cream?”_

They disappear together, Sam staying behind to look at the tree for a moment. Flashes of childhood Christmases come rushing back, all jumbled into one. There’s one particular year they had a tree in their sad little motel room, probably stolen from a store or something, but it was still great. They even put their gifts under it and waited until after midnight to open them, almost like a real Christmas. How Christmas should be.

It’s hard not to be angry or ungrateful or dwell on the horrible shit that happened to them over their lives, but it also isn’t healthy to pretend to not be all those things. He spent so much of his life feeling like he didn’t deserve good things, like he would never get to be happy because he was created for evil and doing _bad._ The fact that Sam Winchester, the boy with demon blood, Lucifer’s Vessel, was decorating for Christmas with actual God, who considered him a father figure, was almost the most insane thing that had happened to him. But it was good and real and he deserved it. He did.

“We’re home!”

Dean’s voice echoes through the Bunker making Sam roll his eyes; no matter how many times he tells Dean it’s a dumb habit, his brother just couldn’t drop it. Sam finds them all in the kitchen, Dean already trying to swap out Jack’s Christmas mug of hot chocolate with a beer.

“Hey! Full house, huh?” Dean beams. “I was just telling them, it’s a fuckin’ nightmare outside. Thought we were gonna get stranded.”

Cas sighs loudly. “You should really get a car that can cope with the weather. Or at least snow tyres.”

“Don’t insult Baby like that, Cas. She got us home, didn’t she?”

“Just,” he mutters into his own drink. “Can I ask the plan for this evening?”

 _“Food, food, and more food?”_ Eileen signs. “ _Did you want to finish the tree first? We can put the presents out now too?”_

 _“Good idea,”_ Dean nods and they all slope back into the library.

The box of decorations is extremely old and extremely heavy. Inside, it is packed away meticulously, one of the last remnants of Mrs. Butters’, which they had no hope of replicating when it came to taking it all down again. However, no one is thinking about tidying up right now. They rummage through the vintage decorations: delicate glass shapes, baubles filled like snow globes, and weird festive caricatures of monsters like Bigfoot with a Christmas hat on it’s head. There are spell bags for good fortune and keeping spirits high and hangovers at bay, which they check over thoroughly before deciding are not traps and can go on the tree.

Soon enough there’s only one thing left.

“Jack, will you do the honours?” Castiel asks, handing the porcelain-faced angel to him.

He nods happily and steps into the air. It’s surreal to watch him walk as if on solid ground but get further and further away from the floor. He pauses by the top of the tree and smiles before securing the angel to the point. From the ground, it’s almost too far away to really appreciate the thing, but they all beam up at his handiwork anyway. Then they put out the presents. Somehow everyone managed to get on board and there are five distinct piles, everyone getting their own wrapping paper in order to minimise confusion. It’s really quite impressive that they’ve managed it all so smoothly. Mistakes will likely come to light quickly in the morning when they actually come to unwrap them.

Silently, Castiel slips his fingers through Dean’s, and as always, the Hunter’s heart leaps in his chest. He never wants to get used to the way that it feels to touch Cas, whenever he wants, _however_ he wants. He would never get used to the fact that Cas wants to touch him back.

“We’ll go set up the Den,” he announces, pulling Cas along with him.

“Not on the blankets!” Sam calls after them. “And crack a window, we have to sit in there too!”

He flips his brother off over his shoulder. However, the big galump has a point. Not that he’s taking Cas to the Den do anything _inappropriate_ , even if that is their usual MO. It’s not Dean’s fault that they have a built in netflix-and-chill room and that Sam decided to get his wife pregnant immediately instead of making the most of not being dead. Plus, he and Cas had years of lost sex to catch up, as was their God given right. (He doesn’t have the brain capacity to unpack the use of that phrase now that his kinda-sorta-maybe-son-in-law is God).

The Den is also Christmas-fied, just not to the extent of the rest of the place. There are always fairy lights strung up (their Cas’ favourite lighting), but now, they’ve been swapped out for festive coloured ones.

“Wait,” Cas says, stopping them as they go through the door. Dean frowns at him, but Cas just looks up until Dean follows his gaze. _Ah._ “Mistletoe. I believe that mistletoe over a doorway signifies something.”

“Does it now? Do you know what?”

They move in closer.

“I’m not quite sure.”

“Oh? Must not be important then,” he starts to turn away.

Cas catches him and pulls him in. “It’s coming to me.”

“Mmm?” Dean licks his lips.

Cas mirrors him, his eyes glittering with the reflections of white-blue lights. “On the tip of my tongue.”

Their faces move together slowly as he speaks. Dean’s hands are on Cas’ waist, while Cas’ travel up Dean’s arms, dragging his fingers over the soft fabric of his shirt, until they settle behind his head. Their lips meet in a gentle kiss; gentle but wonderful.

When they first started kissing, it was urgent. Every kiss was full of importance, full of words they hadn’t said, full of moments they had missed out on; full of anger and sadness and lust and hatred and betrayal and forgiveness and begging and demanding and _everything_. They couldn’t touch each enough or at all, it was like sticking your hand in a bath that’s too hot, like gripping an ice cube until it eats into your flesh. It was all too much and they nearly collapsed under the weight of it all.

But they didn’t.

Now they kiss in the moment. Lazily in bed when they wake up, and briefly when they leave the Bunker without each other, and playfully when they tease each other, and defiantly when people give them bitchy stares, and desperately when they’re drunkenly stripping each other, hungry for each other’s skin. They learnt to be Dean and Cas, this new Dean and Cas that, as it turns out, isn’t all that different from what they had all along.

The kissing is definitely an improvement though.

They set up for the movie marathon silently, working around each other in perfect synchronicity, hands brushing, shoulders bumping, content with the smallest reassurances of each other’s continued existence. By the time that the others appear, laden with food, the pair are back to making out on the couch.

“There are children present,” Eileen says loudly, making them jump apart. “Schooch!” 

It takes a second to notice what’s going on, but Sam’s stupid grin is what makes Dean pay attention.

“No, no way, absolutely not!”

“C’mon! It’s fun!”

“You’re idiots,” he says and signs. “No.”

“Cas, you know you wanna,” Sam wiggles his eyebrows. “You’d look great in them.”

Cas looks between Dean’s scowl and Jack’s smile for a second before giving in. “Hand them over.”

“Cas! You’re supposed to be on my side!”

He sighs. “You’ll understand when you’re a father, Dean.”

“Hey-“ Dean jumps up after him. “What do you mean, _when I’m a father_ , you brought me two whole ass kids that I-“ They disappear down the hall to get changed and he gets cut off.

When they come back, Cas is beaming and Dean is failing not to do the same. The onesies are teddy-bear fleece, red and white fair-isle style with a reindeers and Christmas trees and candy canes, and ridiculously cutesy. The fact they’re _all_ wearing one makes Dean want to throw up until he actually sees them all together: this is _his_ family, one that he was never supposed to have, and yet, here they are. His throat stings and he scrunches up his face to try and stop the tears before they’ve even formed, but he catches Cas watching him and knows that he’s been caught out.

 _“_ Dean, come here,” Sam beckons. “Picture.”

“Dude, no way-“ But then Jack is pulling him over to the couch and he’s letting him. “I cannot believe-“

“Shut up and smile,” Eileen says, pushing his shoulder roughly.

Someone has set up an instant camera, balancing it on books and DVDs until it’s the right height, and they all crowd into where they think the middle of the shot is. On the couch, Eileen sits at an angle against Sam so the camera can pick up her bump, his arm around her; Jack is on the floor by their feet grinning brightly; Dean drops next to him, between Cas’ legs; he rests a hand on Dean’s left shoulder and Dean puts his right hand on top of it. It’s the perfect picture of the frankenstein family and Jack insists on taking more; ones less serious, less perfect, but even better than the first.

Sam dates them all with a sharpie on the white boarder. One will go in the family photo album, the others to be tucked away into wallets and jacket pockets and personal picture frames. Cas snags the one where Dean is looking up at him instead of the camera, completely focussed on his boyfriend. He’s always liked Dean best in the moments that he is unaware of being watched, that’s when he’s the the most beautiful, the most Dean.

He blushes hard at the picture, but allows Cas his indulgence.

They get through a _lot_ of food and about two and a half movies before people start to wind down for the night. Lying down for long periods of time is guaranteed to mean that the baby starts up a gymnastics routine, and Eileen lets Jack watch until going to the bathroom becomes imminently required. Her getting up makes everyone else realise that going to bed is a good idea, so they end up switching off the film halfway through and clearing up a little. At least taking the food back to the kitchen so it doesn’t go stale and inedible overnight, stinking up the Den for the foreseeable future (it happens far too often).

Cas takes Jack to bed, even though he’s _God_ and 1) doesn’t actually need to sleep and 2) probably doesn’t need his (kind of) father to tuck him in. However, his delight at discovering that theyve put sheets on his bed that match his pjs reminds Cas that Jack may be a cosmic being of unfathomable power, but he is still his son.

“Thank you, Castiel. This is the best Christmas Eve ever, much better than last year because you’re here.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, Jack.”

“It’s difficult being human,” Jack says suddenly. “Even being partly human is tough, and I think you’re doing a great job.”

Cas cracks his knuckles, a new nervous habit that he’s picked up. “Thank you. It gets better everyday, easier; I miss my old self less.”

Jack pats his chest. “I’m taking good care of your Grace, don’t you worry.”

“I have no doubts about that,” Cas smiles, only slightly wistful. There have been many days that he’s wanted to ask Jack for it back, mostly days when Dean gets injured and he cannot do more than silly little human remedies. But it’s better this way. Living a human life with Dean, it’s right. It’s what they both deserve. He hugs Jack tightly before he leaves. “Goodnight, Jack. Merry Christmas.”

On the way back to his and Dean’s room, Cas meets Eileen, a spoon in her mouth. He raises his eyebrows and she puts a finger to her lips.

“ _Cranberry jam,”_ she admits. _“At least my cravings are seasonally appropriate!”_

_“I’m not telling if you’re not.”_

She winks. _“Thanks for making Dean put the pjs on.”_

_“He loves it really.”_

_“Not as much as he loves you,”_ she says it so casually and Cas feels his face burn. “ _Still?”_

_“It takes some getting used to… after so long…”_

She nods and pulls him into a hug, her bump pushing him away as much as her arms pull him in. The baby kicks against him, a clear foot making contact with his side, which is still surreal to feel to say the least. Before Eileen’s pregnancy, the only time he’d been allowed to touch a pregnant belly was when Kelly put his hand on Jack. It took some getting used to, processing the fact that there was a little person in there, growing and becoming, and in a matter of weeks, it would be out here with the rest of them.

_“Strong.”_

_“Oh yeah,”_ she laughs. _“Sleep is getting pretty impossible. But it’s good, strong is what we want.”_

_“Your child could be nothing less.”_

It’s Eileen’s turn to blush. The impending motherhood nerves have been getting harder to handle lately; every time she gets a good kick to the ribs, she’s reminded that there is a _real_ baby in there, and soon it will be in her arms and she’ll have to raise it and make sure that she doesn’t mess them up. She can do that, right? Even though she and Sam lost their parents to hunting, they can do better, right? They can find the balance. The idea of going out on a hunt while her baby sits at home waiting for her makes her heart ache, but she cant imagine _never_ hunting again… Maybe she’ll fall in love with the Men of Letters like Sam and she’ll be happy with researching, perhaps be a consultant like Dean’s considering, but somehow, it doesn’t feel right yet. There’s still so much to prove: that you can be a badass Hunter as a woman, as a Deaf person, and soon, as a mother. But would she really risk losing her family just to prove a point? After everything Sam and Dean went through to make sure she got to live her life at all? There’s so much unknown, but as long as she has this family around her, she can face anything.

 _“We should get to bed. Merry Christmas,”_ she goes up on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and then disappears into her and Sam’s bedroom.

The quiet of the Bunker is soothing, even though Cas isn’t often up late enough to be the only one - he can never say no to falling asleep in Dean’s arms - he enjoys the solitude. It’s different from being actually alone. He knows that behind the doors, his family slumber peacefully, able to relax and dream of good, hopeful things. The existential horror of constantly fighting for your life abated, at least on a cosmic level; if the idiots around him still want to throw knives at monsters, that’s their prerogative. And he doesn’t even have to pretend to be happy with it.

He turns off the main lights as he makes his way through the rooms, checking each one out of habit more than an actual need. Soon, he’s bathed in a gentle, colourful glow of the fairy lights, the only illumination left on. He stops by the tree, staring up at the adorned branches, his heart full of a contentment that he used to associate so solely with faith. So strangely similar: the peace he feels knowing that he is loved and that he is able to love back, and the one he felt when he followed God’s commands. But this little family, being part of it, is like a new kind of worship. Now his heart laid down before the altar of love instead of obedience - the difference is he gets something back. Now he knows that when he puts out his hand to hold his God, it will hold him back.

What would Dean make of him thinking like this? Equating their love to something so intrinsically holy? And on Christmas, of all days. He would mock him, but only out of embarrassment, the continued belief that he is inadequate to be compared to the divine, even though Cas has never met anyone more deserving of the epithet than Dean.

In their bedroom, Dean is already tucked in bed, reading a battered copy of _We_ that Cas found buried in one of those chaotic secondhand book stalls. He should’ve saved it for Christmas, but Dean’s already halfway through and it gives him a little thrill to know that he did good in picking it, because he _knows Dean_.

“Get lost?” He jokes without looking up from his book. “C’mere.”

Cas climbs in and under Dean’s outstretched arm, which he promptly tucks around Cas, pulling him tight into his side. He’s taken off the onsie and is in just his underwear, which is probably for the best considering how they both run hot during the night and always end up kicking the covers off even when they sleep naked. Cas presses small kisses to Dean’s side and chest, not entirely meaning to distract him from his book, but also not being unhappy with that side effect.

‘Something on your mind?” Dean asks playfully. “Could give you an early present, if you like.”

“Mmmm?” He moves up to Dean’s collarbone and throat, sucking a little at the soft flesh, but not quite hard enough to leave a mark. “What kind of present?”

“One you only get if you’ve been good this year.”

“And if I’m on the naughty list?”

Dean looks surprised at Cas’ reply, usually he takes a bit of warming up when it comes to their role-plays. “We- We could go through all the bad things you’ve done… See if can’t figure something out.”

“I think that’s for the best.”

It’s silent in the Bunker. But not empty, not even close. It waited patiently. As it always does. For those who were meant to find it, did. They always do. And for the first time in many years, for the first of many years:

The Winchesters are home for Christmas.


End file.
